The Road Less Traveled
by CynderJenn
Summary: After defeating the Archdeamon and uniting a war torn country, Alistair and Alwyn Tabris thought nothing could come between them. When duty and tradition require them both to marry other people can their love survive? Or will true love come from unexpected places? Features a non-warden Cousland.


Bioware owns all, I'm just playing here.

* * *

Alistair had survived the impossible before; he had witnessed deaths of friends and comrades that made him want to give up on life, give up on hope, and give up on everything. The one person who had helped him come through all that whole looked up at him; her green eyes voicing her confusion. _Maker's breath_ this was by far the hardest thing he had ever done.

He wanted to place his hand on her cheek, to brush his thumb across her lower lips, to bend his head to kiss her rosy lips. Instead he rambled on about their shared tainted blood, hoping she knew this wasn't because of her elven blood. In truth, her heritage was one of the things he loved most about her.

"I will need to find a wife, one who can bear a child, who will live to raise it" He told her, careful to keep his voice neutral, "I love you, more than I thought possible. But...I have to face what this means, I cannot run away from this."

Alwyn just stood there, pale and still, "Was that all that I was to you, someone to warm your bed?" Her voice was a step above a whisper, as if she were afraid to speak the words, and even then, he heard the hitch of the tears that she was fighting to hold back.

"Please don't say it like that" Alistair almost whispered. A sickening sensation grew in the pit of his stomach, reminiscent of the feeling of constant nausea the months in the Deep Roads had given him. He was doing this with the guidance of the one man whose approval he had been chasing for most of his life. Somehow, at the time, that approval was more important than the one person who had spent the last year _being_ his life. "I love you more than I ever thought possible, and I know it will become impossible to tear myself away from you. If this is what must be then... I'm sorry."

Alwyn paced the length of the study that Eamon had lent him the use of for privacy, but too much time spent on the road with friends, friends who made their living off of learning secrets, made him doubt their privacy was anything more than an illusion.

"Then is this as a punishment for making you king? You have told me often enough that you didn't want to lead, didn't want to be the king, and now here you are..." her voice cracked. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and to kiss away the tears that were now staining her cheeks, to whisper, _forgive __me, I don't mean any of this_.

Alistair swallowed, needing to keep his own feelings out of this as much as he could. Eamon has advised him that this must be done today, right away, or the people will begin to think Alwyn was going to try to rule through him, and Loghain's treachery was too soon resolved to handle another perceived upstart lurking behind the throne.

"No," he was able to tell her honestly it wasn't revenge for making him king. It was Eamon trying to be the father figure he failed to be for Alistair when he was growing up, trying to guide him now that he was an adult, he told himself. He was actively avoiding the worry that this has something to do with Lady Isolde's death. "I understand why you made me king, I'm starting to think it might be interesting, but I cannot avoid what it entails." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "if I do not end this now I fear I won't ever be able to. I'm sorry, I have no choice." Feeling his resolve breaking, he turned to leave the room, Eamon's desk a heavy weight behind him.

Knowing this was the last private moment he would ever have with Alwyn, Alistair drew it out as long as he could. His hand fumbled with the door latch, resisting the finality that opening it would have on their relationship. Once he went through this door, he would never allow himself to be alone with her again. Just as he thought he had the courage to proceed, her voice came from behind him, quiet, as if it wasn't meant to make it to his ears, "I think you'll make a good king".

He stopped, resting his forehead against the door, telling himself once again that he can't look at her, for if he does he will go to her, take her in his arms and admit he was being the biggest idiot in the world. Instead he opened the door, angled his head so his voice would carry back to her, "I would gladly give it all up if it meant I could have what I really want." His voice cracks with its own tears and _if I could have you_ remained unvoiced.

Alistair was halfway down the hall before decides he could risk a quick glance back, praying as he did so that the Maker wouldn't strike him down for being so weak. Alwyn was a quivering mass of tears on the floor. Leliana and Zevran were on either side of her; having entered the room unseen and unheard, offering her their support and shoulders to cry on. He let a small, sad smile flicker across his face, glad she has that at least. As for himself, he didn't deserve the comfort.

* * *

Alistair tried not to be jealous when the damned assassin spent so much time with her on the march to Redcliff, trying to cheer her up, making her smile, making her laugh. He wondered if the elf was also making her writhe and moan, and his heart shattered at the thought of Alwyn moving on without him. He knew it was bound to happen one day, but so soon and with that elf of all people?

It wasn't until the second day of the march when he was trying to drift off to sleep, but found himself staring at a mend in the tent, remembering how the tear got there in the first place and he smiled at the memory when it hit him that this was their tent, her tent, the place where he has spent the happiest nights of his life. The fog that he has spent the last two days in hadn't given him much of a chance to even think about where he was sleeping. He refused to allow himself to wonder where, with whom, Alwyn was spending her nights.

* * *

At first, Alistair thought this was revenge for breaking her heart. It's a joke, she can't be serious, can she? He was sure he was hearing things wrong. He let a laugh out, but Alwyn didn't join him in his merriment. Asking him to sleep with the apostate? The thought of it makes a part of him shrivel up at the thought of touching, of piercing, the witch with anything other than the blade of his sword slowly entering her cold, black heart.

"You are actually serious? Wow, be killed by the Archdemon or sleep with Morrigan. How does someone make that kind of choice?" He let out another nervous chuckle, waiting for her to say that this is a big joke after all, but she doesn't "You're not actually asking me this, are you?"

Alwyn looked up at him, her eyes bright and her face pale, "It is the best way of making sure we make it through this, that you especially make it through" she pleaded. "If you fall, Anora wins. Loghain wins. If Anora regains the throne then everyone who fought with us, who stood with us, is a traitor in her eyes; Eamon, Teagan, Wynne, Leliana. All of them could be executed as criminals, everything we have done will be suspect in her eyes."

She didn't say the name of the one person Alistair most wanted to see survive. He wondered if she saw it in his eyes, when Riordan was explaining why a warden was needed, that there was no way he would ever let her take the killing blow. He loved her too much to let her do that, If it came down to it, when it came time, he would fulfill his duty as both king and warden, _in death sacrifice_, his final act of love.

He walked over to the side table in his room, picked up a bottle of something, wine maybe, and poured a glass. "Look, even if I was willing to entertain this idea, and I'm not saying I am, is this really what you want me to do? Are you sure?" He willed her to say no, but knew her well enough to know that once Alwyn made up her mind about something she wouldn't back down. Instead, he swallowed his drink in one go, coughing as the harsh liquid hits the back of his throat. Not wine, but something strong enough to turn even Oghren's stomach he thought as he poured himself a second glass.

He didn't notice Alwyn moving next to him, didn't notice her reaching for him, until her hand is on his shoulder, her touch light and familiar, a reminder of all she had been, all she still was yet couldn't be to him, and he was lost to her desires. "You need to trust me" she whispered, and he did. Maker forgive him, but he would do anything for her. _Even this_.

"I do, trust you. If this is what you think is best, I'll do it." Ugh. The liquor had made his voice husky, but it has the calming effect of quieting the feelings that were telling him this was wrong, dulling his nerves, making things easier. This was the very last thing he could have imagined he would be doing if someone asked how he would be spending one of his last nights before meeting the Maker. He swallowed back a hint of bile before continuing, "Where is she? Let's go and get this over with before I..." _throw you against the wall, devour you with my lips, strip you bare and loose myself in you_ "change my mind."

Morrigan was waiting for them in Alwyn's room, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, a wild animal tracking its prey, and lucky him, he was the prey. "Great, this isn't a dream after all" he muttered.

The witch stopped her pacing, and flicked a quick, nervous glance at Alistair before addressing Alwyn, "What is it to be then? Has a decision been reached?" Her words usually mock him, but tonight her voice was that of a wolf closing in on its next meal. Comforting.

"Alistair has agreed to your... request," Alwyn's voice caught at the word. It was the first hint that Alistair had seen that the elf was as enthused about this plan as he was. That catch made him want to call the whole thing off, to spend a final night with Alwyn in his bed, but instead, it was the green eyes and a whispered _trust me_ that gave him the courage to go through with it.

He followed Morrigan down the hall, back to his room, and he eyed the bottle on the table longingly, thinking the empty promises in the bottom of the bottle would make this easier. There was more to this evening with Morrigan than what he has been told, he knew that, he wasn't stupid. There was too much at stake for it to just be sex with the witch, but trust me again whispered in his ears. He prepared himself mentally to lay there, to close his eyes and think of Ferelden.

The witch murmured to him, in a voice that should have made his skin crawl with something other than the anticipation that was beginning to heat his skin, that he would not hate the act quite that much. When he thought about that night later, he realized she was right. It wasn't the best experience he ever had, Alwyn's face in a stolen moment of bliss would occupy those memories until his dying day, he was sure, but it did rate far above nightmares of Broodmothers and the sick, hopeless feeling he had when Alwyn had surrendered and been taken to Fort Drakon. If he really pushed himself, he could admit there were some things he had found very enjoyable, soft curves at the hips, the weight of Morrigan's breasts in his hands, but he never allowed himself to dwell on that night.

Not often at least.

* * *

The forced march back to Denerim went even faster than the march to Redcliffe had taken. There was little time to talk, to rest, to think. He found himself giving a desperate, motivating speech to the armies Alwyn and he had gathered before the battle began. He gave all the credit to Alwyn, for without her strength and courage, none of this would be possible.

The fighting through the streets of the capital was the toughest they had ever seen, and yet through it all Alwyn remained a confident leader, long past the time even Eamon was saying all was lost. The only time he saw her hesitant at all was in the alienage, where the Darkspawn did more to decimate her home and people than Loghain and Travinter mages did over the last year. If possible, that scrimmage was fought with more heart than he thought Alwyn had left to give. When the fighting was done, she stopped long enough to make sure her family was safe before charging onward.

Alistair himself foundered when they came across Riordan's body, broken and burnt, and he knew at that moment that there had been no revenge in Alwyn's asking, it was a tactical decision, she had done everything to ensure that they would both survive the battle. Blessedly, the Maker saw them able to make it to the Archdemon

His heart stopped when he saw Alwyn pick up the sword, the blade almost as long as she was tall, and plunge it into the head of the beast. The resulting blast was enough to knock them all down, to throw Alwyn halfway across the roof, her body broken and burned. When he recovered, when the Darkspawn withdrew, he feared that she was dead like Riordan. He turned to Morrigan, to beg her to use her dark forbidden magic to save his love. He realized he couldn't go on without her, whatever it took, but the witch was gone.

* * *

In the end, it was Wynne who reassured him that his fellow warden was alright, that she would survive, and he felt his heart start to beat again. The final blow to the Archdemon that should have killed a Grey Warden didn't. It was the puncture wounds from the tainted god's sharp teeth, the nicks and cuts of swords not dodged fast enough and a cracked skull that almost did that job, and landed Alwyn in the infirmary after the battle. He found his thoughts drifting towards her, wondering how her recovery was going when he should have been paying more attention to Eamon in the following days.

"She's the fifth girl this week to show up calming to be the lost Cousland daughter. At least this one has almost the right colouring, these con-artists are getting better." Eamon huffed as he handed a paper to the young king, waiting for his signature.

Alistair resisted the temptation to just sign what Eamon handed him without looking everything over. He trusted Eamon, well, he wanted to. His former guardian was doing is best to guide him in decisions, but there was still that young child in him still wanted to prove to the older man that he was worthy of his responsibility. Instead he made himself read everything, even the documents that were more difficult to get through than getting along with Morrigan had been. He chuckled a little at that thought, still amazed that both Alwyn and himself were alive, and letting his mind wander again as Eamon started talking about marriage candidates.

* * *

That night, Alistair found himself pacing the halls of the palace, his new cage, seaming alone. Alwyn was alive, and he was alive, and that was important. Without noticing, his pacing had brought him here, outside the rooms where Alwyn was had been assigned while she recovered.

"I am quite put off with you, you know" Leliana's voice pierced his thoughts, and he looked up to find the woman blocking Alwyn's door. "She has spent every night of the last two weeks crying herself to sleep over you. She loves you, greatly, and you used her. You took her love threw it back in her face when she needed you the most."

"You are right", he said with a sigh, "I have been an ass. I threw away my greatest strength when I needed her the most." He gave Leliana a small smile, "It has taken almost losing her to the Archdemon to show me how stupid I have been for giving her up. I hope with all my heart that she forgives me."

The bard gave him a wary look, saw the love for her friend in his eyes and nodded. "If you hurt her like this again, you will have to deal with me" she said as she moved aside to let the king pass.

Alwyn looked like a child, small and pale in a bed much too large for her frame. He dismissed everyone in the room with a quick glance, not paying attention to anyone in the room other than his fellow warden. Two candles on the table next to the bed flickered a soft light over her face, highlighting the deep shadows under her eyes. He walked over to her, knowing now that she was an addiction he could no longer resist.

"We did it" Alwyn says, her voice quiet, green eyes guarded and flicking between him and out the open window at the drapes fluttering in the cool night breeze.

"We did" he replied, falling to his knees next to her bed, He wanted to gather her in his arms, to feast on her lips. Instead he stated his hunger by taking her hands, hands that could be deadly one moment, yet gentle and caring another, into his and looked into her eyes. "I've been a fool" he told her, bringing her hands to his lips.

She stiffened, her breath caught and her eyes flew to his face. "What..." she choked out before Alistair interrupted her.

"I thought giving you up was the right thing to do, to protect both of us from what has to happen. Instead, I've caused us both so much pain, put both of us in a position where we were willing to sacrifice ourselves rather than to go on without each other." He let go with one hand, to reach up and cup her face, his thumb tracing a cut along her cheekbone, "When I thought I lost you for good, it was like a part of me died. You make me whole. I can't take back all the words I said, as much as I want to. I'm still king, I will still have to marry one day, to have an heir. But I want you at my side as much as possible."

Alwyn's eyes passed between his face, searching, then down at the sheets and again out the open window before she pressed her cheek against his hand, a silent answer to an unasked question, "You are a fool" she told him, "but you are my fool." He bent down to kiss her lips, accepting everything he was powerless to resist any longer.

They still had much to work out between them, the hurt he caused, their uncertain future. But her lips were so familiar and welcoming and he knew, for the first time in that awful week, for the first time in the year and a half that he had known her that everything was right in the world.

They fell asleep that night, curled around each other, Alistair holding her to him, knowing that she was the most important person in the world to him. It felt right to have her snuggled to him, her back pressed to his chest, his arm pillowing her head, her hair tickling his nose. He lazily ran his hand up and down her side, careful of injuries still tender despite healing, telling himself how wonderfully they both fit together, trying to ignore the small whisper in his head that remembered, that craved the weight of a different pair of breasts and the curves of her hips.

Many thanks to John Lander for the Beta help.

A warning in advance that this story will be slowly updated as my laptop allows me until I can upgrade.


End file.
